


Spell

by Val_Creative



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Introspection, Romance, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pumpkin broke. That is the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spell

*

 

The pumpkin broke. That is the truth.

Our beloved pumpkin, our phenomenon that kindled the magic spell, the idea that kept us safe as a family and away from the witches and wizards with wicked intentions— it shattered along with lying mirror images we had of ourselves.

They could hurt us now.

But now I cannot think of the heartbreak, of the devastation as she grips with her hand under the table onto mine silently, as our 'Father' searches for us frantically shoving chairs aside; Mori murmurs nearby that there is no one hiding in the next classroom; Hunny cries out his approval of this new commoner game and of our hiding skills; I could hear Hikaru whispering to himself about 'twin psychic powers'; Kyouya says nothing as he passes us deliberately.

Her hand applies pressure. I look up into her large shining brown eyes. She is smiling like a child.

The pumpkin broke.

…would I still be the same if it hadn't? Would I wish for Hikaru to grow, to separate from the mental stem that connected us since birth? And would Tamaki have realized his feelings for Haruhi? Or would she have fallen in love with him?

She is inescapably beautiful, alone in her thoughts, and yet is always surrounded by curious eyes and hands and mouths that wish to pry her deepest secrets. She is stronger then how she looks. She is a young woman at the beginning of Japanese class on Monday morning with her trimmed brown hair hung over her vacant eyes, and hunching over her knees drawn to her chest.

And she is flinching when Tamaki shakes her shoulder, begging for her attention and supremely unaware of her thoughts.

She is the young woman who springs from her desk as I walk in through the doorway (textbooks tucked in the loop of my left arm), wrenching her shoulder from Tamaki and leaving his hand outstretched— he stares after her in dismay as she throws her arms around me, knocking my textbooks to the floor noisily. She does not cry but laughs. She laughs until there are tears soaking into the front of my purple school uniform and she cannot hold herself on her own feet, the warm weight of her body fully dropping on me.

In the nurse's office, she tells me that her Dad is sick. And I tell her that I love her.

That is the truth.

I have nothing to offer her that she could want. Money, luxurious houses on secluded islands, her own personal fashion line…they are all selfish gifts.

I have nothing to offer but my friendship and my love and my hand at the funeral.

The remaining pieces of my beloved pumpkin still keep our Club in contact.

She is smiling for the first time in many years, racing down the outdoor steps of the university despite the limit that a pencil skirt could stretch, and she is in my arms once again but babbling excited into my ear canal and waving her certificate to become a lawyer in one fist.

We are older now. She is still the bluntly mannered Haruhi even with the long stylish length of her brown hair and the eyeliner, as well as a new found willingness to wear anything dressy.

Mori and Hunny have disappeared. Tamaki is currently running the Academy (with his Father's approval) along with Kyouya's help sometimes (without his Father's approval).

Hikaru travels a lot for his own amusement and for ideas to our fashion business but we talk to each other every night through video laptop connection, blowing kisses to each other before turning in for the evening. He tells me that I will get to meet someone special very soon.

I want nothing more then to be here. She wrinkles her nose when I say this out loud to her ten years later, ridiculing me as 'a hopeless romantic' and 'unrealistic' as well as 'impractical', and yet accepts the tradition of funny commoner cards I get for her birthday. This year I hope she notices the simple gold ring taped to the face of the googly-eyed kitten on top of a cake.

 

*


End file.
